Vemödalen
by livewiresandwildfires
Summary: The house was too big for Alex to reasonably keep, and the memories too painful for him to bother trying.


**Warnings: **N/A

**Rated: **K

**Summary: **The house was too big for Alex to reasonably keep, and the memories too painful for him to bother trying.

**Disclaimer:** All rights to Alex Rider's world go to Anthony Horowitz. Any and all recognizable works do not belong to me. Any ideas, quotes, references, etc. are credited to their rightful owners.

* * *

Cross-legged on the floor, like a child. The centrepiece of the room - sitting so still he could have been decorative, like a vase or a statue. The only movement came from the single pearl of a tear that trailed down his cheek, and the slow but unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

In his hand, also frozen in time, a young Alex smiled out from a frame. Bright and happy - grin dominating his face.

Jack - young and lively (and _alive_) was crouched next to him. Smiling a full tooth smile. Showing off the teeth that had taken three years of braces to perfect. Her arm was wrapped around young Alex's shoulders, like the pair of them were best friends.

They were. They had been, even though this photo had been taken less than a year after Jack first arrived. They had been fast friends: Jack easy going, kind and friendly; Alex young and desperate for the kind of attention his uncle forgot to give.

Ian was there, too. Composed as ever. He stood next to Alex, the only sign of connection in the single hand he rested on Alex's ruffled hair. The man wore dark sunglasses in the photograph - Alex found that, try as they might, he couldn't remember what Ian's eyes looked like. Could not recall the exact shade, or the emotion they portrayed. If any. Likely none.

"That's a lovely photo."

Indeed it was. Three smiling, happy figures, all stood in front of one of Britain's claims to fame. On one half, cliffs and rock. On the other, endless expanses of sea and sky, competing with one another to see which could be more blue. In between, waves crashed and threw foam and white water into the air. Water droplets suspended forever in this split-second snapshot.

It was peaceful, the scenery. A frame of calmness around the three people that stood in contrast - their windblown hair and wild, ecstatic smiles differing from the landscape tremendously.

"Where is this?"

The three of them stood there, at the end of the world, at the Land's End, smiling. Pleased with themselves.

Things were different now. Not just because two out of three from the photo no longer got to smile like that, but because the one that _could_ has not in ages. Alex was looking at one of his favourite family photos, but it might as well have been a picture of strangers. A snapshot in a travel magazine. He didn't recognize them.

"Who took this photo?"

A tourist had - some random man with what Alex had thought of as a Canadian accent. Ian and Jack had struggled with the digital camera, trying to hold it out facing them to get a picture. Every single one either focused on their feet, or cut one of them off.

The two had stubbornly passed the camera back and forth, trying to get a good outcome while Alex bounced impatiently in the middle. Eventually, a Good Samaritan had taken pity on them, asking if they would like him to take the picture.

A quick click later and they had a moment frozen in time. The tourist had smiled and waved as he went to take in the view himself.

Alex sighed, hugging the frame close to his chest with one hand. He reached up with the other, a silent plea to be helped up, and was gently pulled to his feet.

He took an unsteady step forward, and tried to shake the pins and needles from his toes. A guiding hand kept him from toppling over. That same hand lingered purposely, and Alex willing took the comfort it provided.

"Keeping this one then?"

Alex nodded in reply, letting the photograph be pulled from his hand. It was placed delicately in a box, taking residence with a couple other framed photos and a single photo album.

He whipped a hand over his cheeks, drying them from the few tears they still held. Blinking back the moisture in his eyes, he turned to regard the room.

His old bedroom. It was chalked full of memories - football posters and trophies and medals. Pictures and postcards and knick-knacks. There was even some maths homework still open on his desk, long forgotten.

Growing up, he had loved his room. Had loved having all these things around that where _his_. It had been the only room in the house that wasn't plain and impersonal, and Alex relished in that.

Now it just made him sad.

Had these things really been important to him once? Football stars he had never met. The tiny plastic trophy he had won at a spelling bee. Cheap statues and snow globes that were a waste of money more than anything else.

He felt so distant from it now. Like he was standing in a room from a movie: a set made of cardboard. Like none of these memories were his own.

All this _stuff _he had, and none of it mattered in the slightest. The things he cared about could be summed up to the contents of one box, and the person holding it.

"Is this all you want?" The question was full of concern, as if Alex should want more. He didn't.

He knew in his heart that it was time to move on. The house was too big for Alex to reasonably keep, and the memories too painful for him to bother trying. It wasn't practical to stay. It was time to go.

Alex tugged his jacket around him and nodded. "Okay… do you want a moment alone, Alex?"

A moment to say goodbye? A moment to try and commit to memory the home he had grown up in. Where Jack and Ian had lived. Where he and Tom and his friends had played. A moment to cry, to reminisce over the life he once had, and that he would never have again.

A moment alone before everything around him was gone forever.

He shook his head. No, he didn't want his last memory of this house to be a lonely one. He didn't want his last thoughts to be that Jack would never walk these halls, would never breeze around the kitchen with only ten minutes to whip up a meal. Or that Ian would never slip back into the house in the middle of the night, limping or clutching some broken limb or another; would never slip into Alex's room to press a kiss on his nephew's forehead while Alex pretended to be asleep and Ian pretended to believe him.

No, he wanted his last memory of this house to be that photo. That moment of perfect happiness. He wanted to leave this house, leave his past behind, and he wanted to do it hand in hand with one of the only people he had left.

So he held a hand out, and smiled when it was taken. Fingers interlacing. A soft squeeze.

Alex closed the door behind him one last time. Passed the now-empty rooms. Down the stairs, past the quiet kitchen and the barren living room. He locked the front door behind him, not that it mattered much. Nothing in there belonged to him anymore, and by the end of the day it would all be gone.

The single box was gently deposited in the boot of the car. Alex sat shotgun, staring steadfastly ahead. He didn't look back, he wasn't even tempted. The past was the past and that was that. He was ready to move on.

Well almost.

"Could we make a stop, before we go home?" Alex asked, his voice rough.

"Of course."

* * *

Alex took a picture - the exact spot he had stood years before. He looked at the screen. It could have been an image from a postcard. Beautiful, scenic.

Impersonal.

This photo existed a thousand times in a thousand different places. People would be taking this picture for a thousand years to come.

Beautiful, yes. But Alex thought that the really beautiful things were those that didn't last.

A hand enclosed his own, fingers intertwining. He leaned against the warm body next to him, enjoying the heat and the company.

Beautiful, yes.

"Did you two want a picture together?"

Alex turned, seeing the smiling young tour guide with her hand outstretched. He smiled back, finding it impossible to say no.

The young lady took Alex's phone, stripping her gloves off to maneuver it. She raised it, counted down, and clicked. Handed it back with a blush and a smile.

Alex thanked her, taking his phone back. He turned it on its side, letting the image dominate the screen.

Two smiling figures. Surrounded by cliffs and ocean and endless sky.

Beautiful, yes. Uniquely so.

* * *

**Vemödalen: the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist.**

I left the person Alex is talking too purposely ambiguous. That way everyone gets to imagine who they like. I'd love to hear who you thought of in the reviews - and what you thought of the story.


End file.
